


Catch and Burn

by fantasysorceress



Series: Game of Swamps [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Shrek (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Minor Character Death, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 20:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12396069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasysorceress/pseuds/fantasysorceress
Summary: The corpses of his crannogmen litter the Neck, and there's nothing Lord Reed can do except burn their bodies and hope.Except there is no hope, so there really is nothing he can do.





	Catch and Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youbuggme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youbuggme/gifts), [ShamelessAndFameless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShamelessAndFameless/gifts).



> This is a prologue to a Shrek/Game of Thrones crossover story concept born of ideas from me and @distractedbylife, and aided somewhat reluctantly by @youbuggingme XD The main story is lighthearted and funny like the original Shrek movie, it's just that this particular piece came out...kinda angsty. Oops. I promise, if I ever write the actual story, it'll be a lot fluffier than this.

 

“This is the last one, m’lord.”

Shrek grunted in acknowledgement before lifting the withered corpse off the ground and hoisting it over his shoulder. His steward obediently padded along behind him as he stomped out of the village and through the swamps, each step jolting the body weighing on his back. If he hadn’t become accustomed to navigating his land’s marshy territory years ago as a child, he was sure he’d have tripped over a dozen errant reeds and slipped face-first into the muddy water enough times for him to be completely humiliated.

It mattered little now. He’d waded through the same path countless times over the past six months, always with a dead body or two slung over his shoulders, and moreover there was hardly anyone left in the Neck to witness him potentially embarrass himself.

He didn’t stop until he reached one of the many crannogs scattered across the swamps. The familiar predawn mist shrouded the entire land mass in a thick veil of grey, and without the pale tendrils of sunlight peeking through Shrek would’ve had more difficulty locating the large mound of bodies piled high in the centre of the crannog.

Without ceremony, Shrek dumped the body on top of the pile and glanced back at his steward. “You’re absolutely certain this was the last?” he asked.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Very well. Hand me the torch.”

The flaming torch his steward had been carrying passed into his hands. Shrek grasped it tightly and gazed over the rotting pile of corpses, ignoring the flames threatening to lick at his fingers. He’d expected the crannog to stink of carrion after the first few weeks, but it merely reeked as it always did. One of the few benefits of living in a place where the air perpetually smelled like boiled eggs – it masked every other possible bad scent.

From his vantage point several paces away, the pile resembled a hill of rocks interspersed with thatch and wood rather than a mountain of bodies atop a makeshift funeral pyre. The rough scales covering most of the corpses’ skin reflected the orange glow of the torch, their dull shine cutting through the fog and searing into his eyes like a curse. Shrek ignored the temptation to shut his eyes and continued to stare at his improvised pyre, his vision roving over the numerous bodies of crannogmen lying dead in their own land.

_His_ people, in _his_ land.

He’d failed them.

It’s what his mind whispered every night, ever since the first greyscale case had appeared in the Neck. The disease had swept through the land faster than anyone had predicted, infecting dozens of villagers and crannogmen within a month. Once the corpses had begun piling up, his father had solemnly asked him to help carry the bodies of the dead out for burning. _It’s the lord’s duty to properly bury his people,_ Lord Reed had said. _They are our responsibility._   _Without our people, we are nothing. When they pass on, we owe them this much._

It was fortunate that his father had taught him that lesson before he and Lady Reed came down with greyscale themselves. Shrek had been banned from seeing them until he’d insisted on carrying both his parent’s corpses out of Greywater Watch alone several weeks later and assumed the title of Lord Reed at the age of fourteen.

Now here he stood, more than half a year after the initial outbreak, with no parents, no army, no people, and no future.

“Stand back,” he said aloud, and tossed the torch onto the pile.

The pyre quickly caught fire and soon the morning sky was lit up in hues of red and gold. Smoke wafted up into the air, mixing with the dissipating fog, and Shrek swallowed hard to avoid coughing.

“M’lord,” said his steward, and Shrek turned to face him, “what will we do now?”

“How many people are still alive?”

His steward frowned. “Roughly twenty, I believe.”

“I want you to lead them out of the Neck, and find yourselves somewhere safe to live. Go to Winterfell first – House Reed has always been a loyal vassal of House Stark and they will not turn you away. If the winter weather proves too treacherous, go to White Harbor. My instincts tell me House Manderly can be trusted.”

“What about you, m’lord?”

Shrek’s gaze flicked over to the growing heaps of ash strewn about the crannog. “I’m Lord Reed of Greywater Watch. My place is here.”

“But –” the steward sputtered.

“Someone needs to stay behind in case anyone stumbles upon empty land in the Neck and decides to claim it for themselves,” said Shrek. “I received enough weapons training from my father to know how to defend myself and Greywater Watch. I’ll be fine on my own. Seven hells, I _want_ to be alone. After dealing with all this –” he waved a hand at the dwindling number of discernible corpses – “if I never see another person again in my life, it would be far too soon.”

The steward pursed his lips, analyzing Shrek thoughtfully. “Is that the real reason you wish to hide here,” he said slowly, “or is it because you’re afraid of how the other Houses would react if they see your greyscale scars, m’lord?”

Unbidden, Shrek raised a hand to his face. His fingers brushed against the hardened grey shell caked across his once-smooth skin and he flinched, dropping his hand like his cheeks had suddenly transformed into hot coals.

“You are to accompany the rest of the crannogmen and villagers to a place of shelter and safety while I remain here,” he snarled, walking closer to him. He may have been a head shorter than the steward, but he’d always been told his death glare was sharper than any sword. “No more questions. That is an order.”

The steward paled visibly and bowed low.

“I will do as you say, m’lord,” he said.

“Good.” Shrek hesitated, then added, “Safe travels.”

“Thank you, m’lord.” The steward briefly dipped his head again and strode back into the swamp, plowing through the marsh with an ability only possessed by crannogmen with years of experience.

Shrek watched him go until the steward disappeared from view. Then he turned back to the crannog, which had finally caught fire from the burnt out pyre and was starting to sink into the swamp. Ash floated on the surface of the water, speckling its natural green colour with smudges of black. The mist from earlier had disappeared completely, leaving him with clear vision of the scene before him.

He stepped backwards, far enough that the flames wouldn’t be able to touch him, and watched the crannog burn.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://fantasysorceress.tumblr.com)


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